


Inch By Inch

by englandwouldfalljohn



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Not Beta Read, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Red Pants, Red Pants Monday, Smut, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 14:43:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12986259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englandwouldfalljohn/pseuds/englandwouldfalljohn
Summary: John takes a risk and sends a text from upstairs...





	Inch By Inch

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by the brilliant agirlsname, whose work will leave you in awe <3

He knew Sherlock was in the sitting room waiting, but something had changed, and after this afternoon’s case, he could no longer deny it. They were due back at Scotland Yard in half an hour to complete the requisite paperwork, and John had been stalling as long as possible, avoiding the moment when one look would inevitably give him away once and for all. _Oh well,_ he thought, reaching for his mobile. _He’ll know soon enough. Might as well have a little fun with it..._

**What are you wearing?**

  
**Belstaff, obviously.** **  
** **Why, what are you wearing?**

**Jumper... which I’m slowly pulling off…**

**Hate those things anyway. So are you coming?** ****

**I will be…**

**...** ****

**Right after I peel off this tight vest I’ve been sweating in all day.** ****

**Why were you sweating?**

**It’s bloody freezing, and heater’s not working.**

**Maybe I ought to come down and warm you up then?**

 

 **I...** **  
** **Yes.**

**Yes?**

**... yes**

**Unless you stop me, I’m coming down.**

**...** ****

**Right. Ok then.**

 

As footfalls came slowly down the stairs, predictably avoiding the squeaky step, Sherlock attempted to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. _I’ll have to fix that,_ his mind supplied treacherously.

Despite the anticipation, it was still a shock to see John Watson - silver hair and confident stance - stride into the room in jeans and a fitted white vest.

John strode purposefully toward the chair where his flatmate sat gripping the armrests, and without a word, slowly  
  
s

l

o

w

l

y  
  
began removing his shirt, revealing a reemerging soldier’s physique beneath.

“How do you want to do this?” he asked, demanding, yet with a tender expression in his indigo eyes.

Sherlock merely shook his head. For the first time in years - perhaps, in his life - he found himself stunned into silence.

John smirked, reveling in the fact that he had found the key to shutting down that gorgeous source of epic wit, and raised his chin. Leather slid through belt buckle, and the metal whir of his zipper being lowered echoed in the stillness of the flat.

With the slightest tug of his thumbs, denim hit the floor. Sherlock failed to notice him kicking it aside; his eyes were fixed on the deliciously thick bulge before him, now only covered by the stretch of thin red pants.

He shifted suddenly, and a strong grip moved up the length of slender thighs as John Watson dropped to his knees. Quick fingers worked open a belt for the second time, then hooked into the back of bespoke trousers and pulled forcefully, dragging Sherlock lower in his chair. A fierce gasp sounded above him as the side of his jaw traced the outline of irrefutable evidence that his detective was giving in to his transport.

Wet, hot tongue pressed hard against the base of an already full erection, drawing upward inch by  i n c h  by  i   n   c   h. Smooth fabric was exchanged on John’s tongue for the feel of cold metal between his teeth as he drew the zip down with a growl, simultaneously releasing a double button with his left hand.

He buried his nose in deep purple silk, moaning wantonly, helplessly, at the heady blend of scents: cold wool, Irish breakfast, sandalwood, and the unmistakable musk of desire. Carefully, reverently, John slipped his hand through and drew out what could only be described as a reflection of the man himself. Long, hard, and surprisingly warm despite the coldness which sheltered it. And like the man himself, that inimitable Sherlock Holmes, his cock was bloody beautiful.

John lost his until-now effortless hold on himself, and with another deep groan, slid his hungry mouth down the full length, his slight gag is it hit his throat causing a spasm of pleasure from the man above. He inhaled and began pulsing his open throat down up down up down, pressing his tongue toward the roof of his mouth as if to squeeze every ounce of forbidden flavor from the man allowing him - finally - this foothold into a new way of being together.

He drew his mouth up languidly, an obscene sucking sound causing Sherlock to shiver and let escape a high pitched mewl.

The sensation of the crimson, already-leaking tip of his desperate cock being rolled and devoured by the only person he’d ever found himself attracted to was already too much - it had hardly begun and yet he knew the end was coming dangerously close.

“J...” He tried and failed to speak. “J... J-John... I... I’m...” he gasped, torn between continuing the pleasure he was experiencing and the release he had spent a lifetime denying himself.

Sure fingers threaded their way beneath him, grasping hard where thigh and arse met, forcing him up into a mouth that was humming, moaning, somehow begging him to fill it with—  
  
“Uh uh I... fu- Joh- I c-can’t... I’m...”  
  
One more swallow around him and  
  
“Fffffuuuuuuckkkk, Jaaawwwnnn! Yesyesyes,” he choked out, tears bursting from the corners of his eyes as he half-sobbed in pleasure, “yesyesyes!”

When Sherlock finally came down, he was treated to the sight of John Watson, clad only in red pants, in the armchair across from him by the fire.“We should probably call to have the heating fixed,” he remarked casually.

“Mmm,” Sherlock agreed, still breathing heavily. “Tomorrow?”

John palmed his still overpowering erection as a sly smile crossed his face. “Tomorrow.”


End file.
